snow day

hushed as a whisper the snowflakes fall,
dusting the gray earth
with purity and beauty,
a reminder, yes,
intricate gift of the creator himself.

and i, a mere particle in this crowd
of individuals on my street, in my city,
under a wide, common sky.

design? i suppose. but what does it matter
in this vast diversity...
i feel a particle small in the atmosphere.

only this. i, too, fall from the sovereign hand.
who am i to question?
each snowflake, each soul, here for His purposes
a bit of beauty in the gray of January.